


Like the Rise of Empires (someone has to fall)

by Skellington101



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Force Bond (Star Wars), Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Mandalorian Culture, Slow Aging, The Force, older baby yoda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:00:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24125536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skellington101/pseuds/Skellington101
Summary: ("Grieve quietly and for many years.pour your heart silently intothe sand.shore up your aching soul andendureand endureand endure.This is not the fate you would have asked forbutmaybe one daythe stars will see fit tolet you rest.") - Unknown
Relationships: Baby Yoda & Corin the Stormtrooper (Rescue and Regret) & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Corin the Stormtrooper (Rescue and Regret), Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Mose (Family and Home), Corin the Stormtrooper (Rescue and Regret)/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 71





	Like the Rise of Empires (someone has to fall)

**Author's Note:**

> Late night fics, babeyyyy, they're fun! Anyways, here you go, some angst for the baby, and not physically because I would never go that far.
> 
> (The poem is not written by me, I'm sorry if you thought so, but if you know or find the creator, please let me know!)

He doesn't remember his _buir'e_ well.

At three hundred twenty seven years old, he is spry and nimble, capable of deadly force if needed. He is well-trained, following both the _Resol'nare_ and providing for the coverts to the best of his abilities, as well as the ways of the Jedi. His covert is no longer hidden, a warrior tribe that protects and hunts with honor and respect.

He follows the Light, finds peace in the Force but does not lose himself in it. He still fights, because those are his people and that is his culture, but he respects the peace they strove for and tries his best to learn from the past.

And the past was its own force to be reckoned with. He had lived through the most troublesome of times, when Force users were hunted and when they were controlled by the Empire. When the remnants had attempted to snatch him from the very cradle in which he laid to force him to obey. Indeed, his first tangle that he truly remembers, with the First Order and their child-napping ways emanating from an Empire fallen but still felt, was a gruesome thing to behold. But, by that time, he had his mentor's words and training to guide him, and the support of his _aliit_. 

His _buir'e_ had made sure he was in good hands, before they marched away. And march away they did. 

His guardian tells stories, tales that have his _buir'e_ battling entire squadrons of Death Troopers, one of his _buir_ pulling off reckless stunts like they were his very last and his other _buir_ protecting them with all that he could muster. In his own mind, the memories of them are blurred, distorted heavily. He can remember the echoes in the Force, when they used to pull and push it casually as if it were a toy. 

The bell rings, a heavy toll upon what he did with his antics, to siphon off the Force and treat it recklessly. Undoubtedly, it took many of his years, but he had many more to give. He lived to see Orders rise and fall, planets crumbling to dust and fiery death. And yet, there is still more to see.

He remembers a couple of things, all too vividly for what they were. 

Shining, brilliant blue eyes and a warm smile, one scar tracing down his cheek and digging into his jaw. Graying hair streaks through the once brown locks, but he was still as vibrant as ever. 

A soft, but strong voice, steady and sure of every word he said, as few as they were. Shiny, silver beskar and soothing mando'a, a quiet lullaby sung in his ears. Gentle hands cradling him close to an armored chest, never less comforting for how cold the metal was.

Then, pain. Loud and devastating, a grief that tore up his shields and imprinted itself in his mind. His own grief and pain still ached in his heart, when he felt his _buir'e_ being ripped away from them, one by one. It was not the happy end they deserved, but the one many suffered in the galaxy, of dying far too soon in their lifespan.

He is pulled out of his reminiscence in the Force by a soft grumble and the shifting of a large prehensile tail dragging through grass and damp soil.

Mose, a large and strong Hutt even with his many battle scars and aches, holds himself high and looks over with far too perceptive eyes. He rumbles, "Up for another bounty, _Pateesa_?" 

When he doesn't answer, Mose grumbles more and shifts, sliding closer and prodding him, watching as he looks up irritably at him and nods his head. 

"In a minute." Mose looks dubiously at his meditation pose, clearly remembering the time when he had sat for a solid day without moving at all, and he frowns at his larger companion.

Mose huffs at his face, turning back to the rest of the clearing where they stayed for a temporary camp, the fire still crackling softly. He hadn't slipped away for long, at most probably three hours. 

But in the middle of all the new growth, the nature that thrived and hummed with Light, he couldn't help the longing that had poured over him. It was peaceful, for all that the planet used to be war torn from galactic war raging across its landscape. The galaxy, by large, would probably never reach the level of peace he found here. 

And yet… he would bear it again. 

Until he passes, he would provide for his _aliit_ , those he and his _buir'e_ had shared the mudhorn symbol with, and he would wander out into the chaos of the galaxy. He would help where he could and mourn for what he couldn't, and he would eventually move on.

Grief is a hard enemy to beat, and to get overwhelmed, to be let it consume everything inside him until there was little left, would be even worse than the first time. He owed it to his _buir'e_ and every other sentient out there to never let it get that close again.

Another tap, on the shiny beskar pauldron strapped to his shoulder. He never had it painted, whether out of sentiment or tradition now.

"We are still here, _Pateesa_."

He slowly nods, unfolding his legs and standing up on the soft vegetation that held him. Mose sits in front of him, and so he takes a moment to reach out.

His smaller hand finds a frayed loop of thread woven together into what is still an intricate pattern. The colors have faded and several bits have been re-tied, replaced, or rewoven. But it's still there. 

"Yes," he says quietly, "We are still here, _cabur_." 

He runs a hand over the raised edge of the mudhorn crest. One of the first creatures he had protected his _buir_ from, Mose said. The way he told it, describing how bent and broken his _buir's_ armor had been and the awe in his voice when he had used the Force to lift it off the ground. Only the first of several future events.

_"Causing trouble, aren't you, womprat?"_

_"Perhaps that's his calling, Din. It seems to run in the family."_

_"...I don't cause nearly as much trouble as you two."_

_"Sure, and risking your life to fight through several squadrons for us isn't equally as crazy."_

_"...I'll admit to that much, at least."_

_"I don't think I would expect anything less."_

He is proud of who he is, who he has become. He thinks, perhaps a little too wistfully, that his _buir'e_ would be too. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! My tumblr is @skellysdomain is you wanna yell at me or just stop by and say hello! 
> 
> \---
> 
> buir'e - plural for buir, which means parent  
> aliit - clan  
> Pateesa - Hutteese for Friend  
> Cabur - guardian/protector


End file.
